


Morning Glory

by My_Trex_has_fleas



Series: Land and Sea [30]
Category: Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/pseuds/My_Trex_has_fleas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mornings are one of Ross' best times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This after Jim and Ross have moved in together.

Ross never knew what he was going to wake up to when Jim was home.

Some mornings it was sleepy pliant Jim, wrapped around him and his legs tangled with Ross’ and his nose pretty much in Ross’ ear. Those were some of Ross’ favourite mornings, Jim’s deep steady breathing warm on his skin and the soft noises of protest he made when Ross moved him to get more comfortable beyond adorable. If Ross was lucky, he could get Jim onto his stomach and then nuzzle into the back of his neck, biting softly to wake his sailor up in a way that was guaranteed to get Jim moaning into the pillow, pushing back into Ross and rubbing up against him, until he moved just enough for Ross to get one hand around Jim’s front, taking his cock and working it slowly until Jim’s breathing turned erratic and he came, a burst of sound that was a quiet as Jim got in bed. Then he’d flop back down and Ross could move on top of him, working him open easily before sinking into him, and fucking him slow and deep and gentle with their voices murmuring endearments and confessions of love until he felt himself getting close, then speeding up and driving them both over the edge. Then Ross would lie on top of him, Jim’s sturdy frame bearing his weight easily, until their breathing slowed and he could pull out and grab the towel they kept next to the bed, clean them both up and then snuggle up against him so they could both go to sleep again.

Of course when Jim woke up again there would be mutters about the state of the bed sheets, and much dramatic stripping of bed linen and then Jim stomping downstairs to go do washing. But his blue-green eyes would be dreamy all day and Ross would often find himself cornered, subjected to a continuous assault of drifting touches that made his heart jump. Jim would be happy and unfocused, moving around the house with a languidness he didn’t often display and the afternoon would usually end in sleepy hugs and lazy kisses on the sofa, until Jim got that smile and rolled them off onto the floor to start all over again.

Then there were the mornings where Jim was awake and restless before the sun was even up. Those were the mornings that Ross hated, burrowing under the duvet as Jim bounced out of bed and into the bathroom and the next time Ross ventured a glance he would be showered and dressed, bouncing on their bed to shake his wet hair in Ross’ face, sunshine laughter and peppered kisses making it impossible for Ross to resist the call to get up and out. These were days where Jim would be waiting for him downstairs with a mug of coffee which he would practically force Ross to drink before shoving his helmet in his hands and dragging him out to the bike. At least, Ross reasoned, it was Jim who drove so he just had to hold on and get taken for the ride. He knew that Jim got wanderlust when he was on land for too long and they would go down the coast, the Storm growling like a big cat underneath them.

There would be breakfasts in roadside cafes, bacon sandwiches and brown sauce and tea that could strip an engine. And then it would be back on the bike, Jim taking the corners deep and fast and Ross feeling like they were flying along the road instead of driving. He totally got why Jim loved this so much, but had resisted the suggestion to get his licence and his own bike, because for Ross this way was the way he wanted it, sitting behind Jim on the bike with his arms around him and feeling the vibrations travelling up from the road and moving through them both.

It would be evening before they got back, tired and travel sore and then it would be baths with heavy shakings of salts and the two of them crammed in together, thankful that the giant claw foot tub was able to accommodate them both. Jim would always be behind him, sitting up so he could read while Ross lay back on his chest, feet braced on the edge of the tub and talk, getting non-committal murmurs of agreement or question. They would stay there for ages, letting the water out as it got cold and topping it up with hot until their fingers were wrinkled and the mirror blanketed in steam. Then it was a slow climb out, and drying each other off before heading to their bed, snuggling down together under the duvet, feeling Jim at his back, a reversal of the day, and Ross went to sleep with the sound of Jim’s breathing in his ear.

And then there were _those_ mornings.

Mornings where Ross knew the day was going to go to hell, because it usually started with Jim biting at his shoulder, clawing at Ross’ hip and pressing his erection into Ross’ back, breathy sighs telling Ross that he was of a mind to misbehave. Ross sometimes liked to pretend he was still asleep, feeling the frustration build until Jim was almost whimpering with it, his soft pleas for Ross to touch him turning demanding if he didn’t get what he wanted. Ross would hold out as long as possible before complying but it was very difficult to do so with Jim breathing entreaties for Ross to fuck him in his ear.

When he finally moved on top of Jim, there would be no gentleness there, only the combat of two bodies honed by years of physical activity battling to drive each other crazy. Ross knew how to play dirty now, knew that biting hard at Jim’s neck or pulling on his hair would reduce him to incoherent panting, just as Jim knew that scratching his blunt nails along Ross’ hipbones or down his back would do the same. Their kisses would be fiery, all teeth and tongues and whispered profanity when they let each other draw breath. Then Ross would slide under the duvet, his mouth going where Jim wanted it, taking him in and feeling him solid and thick, the salt of Jim’s pre-come in his mouth setting off his own.

It would go until they were both at fever pitch, then Jim would throw Ross and the duvet off and either climb on top of him or go to the end of the bed, hands braced against the footboard. It would be a race to get him prepared, with Ross barely able to hold on as he stuck his fingers inside Jim, no care for gentleness here, not with Jim pushing back onto him and demanding that Ross do it harder and faster, one arm wrapped around Jim’s chest holding on and the fingers of his hand finding his prostate and keeping the pressure on it as Jim shook and whined and let loose a stream of words from that filthy mouth of his about how good it was, how close he was and how much he needed Ross’ cock inside him. Then Ross would push his legs apart, fingers digging in and leaving bruises and push in hard, making Jim cry out and his knuckles turn white where they held on to the bed or to Ross’ forearms. Sex like this, when Jim was in a mood for it, was hard and fast with Jim being in control of everything in spite of the fact that he was the one being fucked. Ross would give him everything he had, driving home with a brutal strength that Jim welcomed with screams and curses, or watching spellbound as Jim rode him, bucking hard enough to almost throw himself off Ross and eventually losing control with a spectacular arch of his back, screaming his orgasm to the ceiling and coming all over the bed or Ross’ stomach. Ross would follow as if dragged, unable to keep silent as he came with Jim’s eyes burning into his.

Those were the mornings when Ross would spend the rest of the day feeling the dull, pleasant ache in his muscles. He would have scratch marks down his back and Jim would have bite marks on his shoulders and they wouldn’t bother to shower, smelling of each other’s saliva and cum and barely getting dressed because invariably they would only end up naked and entangled again, against the wall of the hall or on top of the washer in the laundry or laid out on the dining room table. It would go on all day, three or four or five times until they were exhausted and sweaty and covered in each other’s messes. These were the days when Ross would kneel and let Jim come on his face, days when Jim would let Ross fuck him until he needed no preparation at all, just let Ross bend him over the nearest flat surface and pull his sweats down and drive into him, one hand at the back of his neck to hold him down while he screamed for it. It was animalistic and unbridled and rough and it hurt but it was the kind of hurt that made everything else burn so brightly. And when they finally went to sleep, after their bodies had both given out, it was with words of love and endless devotion and being curled so far into each other it was like they really were one person.

No, Ross could never tell which Jim he would wake up to. But the fact that Jim was simply there was the thing that made waking up worth anything at all and so Ross would always start the day with the first thing he saw being either a flash of blue-green eyes, dark gold hair or a bright dimpled smile and he would know that it was going to be a good day.


End file.
